Fault
by Dee Moyza
Summary: An argument over a fired tutor spirals into a major shift in Rinoa and Caraway's relationship. Pre-game, one-shot, tangentially related to "Rift".


_(Disclaimer: As a work of fanfiction, the creation of this piece does not imply ownership of the Final Fantasy franchise, its characters, or any affiliated intellectual property.)_

* * *

"You fired Dorolind?" Rinoa wasted no breath on greeting or preamble. "Why? She was a nice lady and a good teacher. I was doing well with her!"

"You're a smart girl, Rinoa. You'll do well with any tutor." The words were cold and dismissive, spoken not as a compliment, but as a statement of fact. Caraway set aside the report he was reading and looked up. Rinoa stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, challenging him. At fifteen, she was beginning to lose her childish features, and as she matured, she'd developed mannerisms uncannily similar to her mother's. This made Caraway uneasy, made him feel as if his grief had somehow infected Rinoa, as if his memories were responsible for the changes in his little girl.

"Father, you didn't answer my question," she said. "Why did you fire Dorolind?"

"Because in addition to delivering your lessons, she also constantly filled your head with silly, impractical notions."

"Is this because I said wanted to travel? On my own?"

"That was just one notion out of too many to justify Dorolind's continued employment."

"But she was right! You can't fire her for being right! I _do_ need to get out of here. I need to prove myself, to see the real world, not just the world you want me to see! And maybe I can change it."

"Don't be absurd."

Rinoa took a step forward and pointed toward the window. "Do you know how many people are hurting out there, how many people are _suffering_ because of what Deling has done? I might be able help them somehow, show them not all of us Galbadians are the same."

"Those people are not your problem, Rinoa. You don't need to do anything for them."

"But that _is_ the problem. I don't do anything for anybody. I feel like I'm just wasting my life, and that's scary. I want to do something, to be someone, not just your daughter." She looked down. "Since that hardly means anything, anyway," she muttered.

Caraway slammed his hands on his desk and sprang to his feet. "What did you say?" he demanded. He didn't wait for her answer. "How dare you assume that I don't care about you! That is what this whole argument is about. The world is a dangerous place, _especially_ in the areas where there is the most need. I'm not preventing you from playing savior because I don't care about you, I want to protect you because I do!"

"But you can't just shut me away forever!" Rinoa clenched both hands into fists. "I'm not a little girl anymore, and you need to realize that. I can take care of myself."

"Not out there, you can't. Now, calm down and be reasonable."

"I _am_ being reasonable. You're the one who isn't. You're just scared to let me live my life." She paused, taking a deep breath to aim her next shot.

"Mother would've wanted me to help people, I'm sure of it," she said quietly.

A white-hot brand tore through Caraway's heart. This had been Rinoa's trump card for the past few years. She'd appeal to his grief and his guilt and, even if she didn't exactly get her way, she almost always defused his anger. But today he was tired and exasperated and determined to teach her the dangers of overplaying one's hand.

That's what he would tell himself later, when he sat at his desk and wondered where she'd gone.

But now, he walked around his desk and closed the distance between himself and his daughter in a few strides.

"Don't bring your mother into this," he said, looking down at Rinoa. "How could you possibly know what she would have wanted? You hardly knew her!"

Rinoa flinched as violently as if he'd stricken her. She was a strong girl, and stubborn, one who did not cry easily. Even now, her eyes remained dry. But her voice caught as she spoke.

"You're right," she said, "and you've done your best to keep it that way. You never talk about her, never let me know who she really was. Burying her once wasn't good enough for you. You just have to keep burying her, over and over –"

"Enough!" Caraway roared. "I heard enough, this ends now!" He took hold of her arm, intending to lead her to her room and keep her in there until this rebellious episode passed, but she pulled away, and the look on her face chilled his marrow.

Her eyes were cold, her lips drawn into a snarl. As a soldier, he had seen hatred in the eyes of an enemy before, but none as intense as that which glowed in his daughter's eyes right now.

"Yes," she said, "this ends now." She bowed deeply, stiffly. "If you'll excuse me, _General Caraway_."

In the moments it took him to recover, she was gone, running out of his office, tearing down the hallway, through the front door and out the gate. Caraway rushed after her, but was too late. Standing in the doorway of his home, he heard the gate guard's startled shout, a sharp masculine sound that only underscored the soft, plaintive sob of a young girl with a broken heart.


End file.
